CSI Midgar: The Ties That Bind
by GuiltyRed
Summary: Crackfic not crossover! Reno Sinclair is the supervisor of the graveyard shift of Midgar’s elite crime scene investigators… - Ensemble FFVII cast. Seriously implied Angeal/Genesis.


Title: CSI: Midgar – The Ties that Bind

**Title:** CSI: Midgar – The Ties that Bind  
**Author: **GuiltyRed**  
Rating: **R  
**Warnings:** Crack. Unrepentant, absolute crack.  
**Word count: **2735**  
Prompt:** Final Fantasy VII, As many characters as the author can manage: hair fetish crackfic – _Some strands are more important than others._  
**Summary: **Reno Sinclair is the supervisor of the graveyard shift of Midgar's elite crime scene investigators…  
**A/N: **Apologies for the late, this even one ate the other fics I had due this weekend! Hope the wait was worth it! ;; 1) Yes, the fan clubs are real. I have scripts. nodnod 2) The intern is an OC from another Turk crackfic of mine, "The Few, the Proud" – they never did figure out if his name was Tony, Timmy, or Jason. (Here, it's Timmy. Mostly.) 3) Yes, Reno gets to be a cross between Gil Grissom and Horatio Caine. Red hair FTW, yo. 4) Nod goes to The Weiss x Nero Club at DeviantArt. 5) Another nod goes to Lucasfilms. 6) SPIKE TV is testosterone cable love.

_a PARK, late night or early morning  
_  
"See you tomorrow night," the well-dressed blonde called to the other two women as they each headed out of the park.

"Okay, bye bye!" chirped the youngest of the trio, a buxom brunette in a too-tight pencil skirt.

"I'll bring the photos," promised the third with a cheery wave.

The blonde smiled to herself as she made her way down familiar roads. The evening had been a delightful bit of fun, over too soon but with the promise of a grand event on the horizon. _Too bad we can't bring everyone together more often than once a month,_ she mused; _then again, with all the rivalries…_

A shadow fell across her path, and her sure step faltered. "_You!_ What do _you_ want?"

The shadow approached, forcing her backward. "Where did you get that? You wouldn't _dare_…oh my god, no!"

_fade in on AN ALLEY BELOW PLATE, SUNRISE  
_  
Reno surveyed the alleyway, scowling. "Something's not right, yo."

Pulling on a latex glove, Tseng glanced up at him. "You mean besides this dead body?"

Reno breathed in the still air. "Do you have a time of death?"

"Not yet." Tseng took a meat thermometer out of his case and stuck it unceremoniously into the victim's midsection. "By the liver temp, I'd say she's been out here since shortly after midnight."

Squinting up at the wan sunlight, Reno nodded. "Looks like she's getting more than her eight hours, yo."

Elena knelt to assist Tseng with his examination. "What's that around her neck?"

"Rude, did you document this yet?" Tseng asked, tipping the victim's head back slightly.

Rude nodded and brandished his camera.

Moving carefully, Tseng and Elena unwound the strange, soft rope from around the dead woman's neck while Rude snapped pictures. Tseng frowned at it; something about the texture seemed awfully familiar…

"Eeew!" Elena cried, springing halfway across the alley. "It's hair! Human hair!"

"We should have it analyzed, to be sure," Tseng observed, dropping it into a baggie.

Reno strode over and smacked him on top of his head. "Are you crazy, yo? We give that to Hojo, he'll make little midget clonemonsters! No. Turks got labs, we'll figure it out ourselves."

_fade to HIGHLY FUTURISTIC FORENSICS LAB  
_  
"How are we supposed to analyze this without taking it apart?" Cissnei grumbled. She held the hair rope at eye level and tried squinting at it as if that might show her the reason for its existence.

"Sure has a lot of red and silver in it," the intern commented casually around a cheese-topped pretzel. "Especially the silver."

Cissnei examined it a little more closely, then set it on the light table. When she switched the high-powered light on, two things happened: the intern with the munchies flinched like he'd been physically hit; and some of the hairs in the braided rope began to fluoresce mako green. "SOLDIER," Cissnei murmured breathily, loosening her tie. "And some of the hairs are black…"

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked the intern.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Cissnei stuffed the hair rope into its little protective baggie, then crammed the baggie in her pocket. "I have an idea. I'm gonna go check it out."

"Butwaitshouldn'ttheevidencestayhereohhell…"

_interior shot, SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE  
_  
"Madonna Tawanda," Reno said when Cissnei burst into his office.

"Um…no, it's Cissnei," she told him gently. "Listen, I –"

"The victim's name, yo. Madonna Tawanda. She was the president of Silver Elite."

Cissnei blinked, not following. "I, er, don't follow," she admitted.

"Silver Elite, yo. It's the local Sephiroth Fan Club, sort of an underground network of hormonal and obsessive women-types who get their jollies stalking a certain silver-haired General." Reno leaned back in his leather chair and steepled his fingers. "Can't imagine why he'd allow such a thing, can you? And, why's your tie undone, yo?"

Cissnei blushed in spite of herself and straightened her tie. "Hot in the lab, sir. Timmy was making cheese dip." Then her brain caught up with the conversation. "Do you think _Sephiroth_ killed her?"

"No. To kill her would be to admit she existed in the first place," Reno explained. "His official position is to ignore them and hope they go away. No, with Ms. Tawanda gone, I have to wonder who might have stood to gain from her loss. Any thoughts, Cissnei?"

She frowned, then asked, "What are they going to do without a president? Don't they need a new one?"

"That they do," Reno replied with a smile. "That they do. Are you up for a little under-cover work?"

"Here? Now?" Cissnei asked, flustered, as she began loosening her tie again.

"What are you doing, Cissnei?" Reno asked, his expression puzzled.

"What do you want me to be doing?" she asked, once more baffled.

"I want you to infiltrate Silver Elite and see what they're talking about today. See if Ms. Tawanda was in someone's way…"

_cut to LAB, a little later  
_  
"The rope was braided from hair taken from a number of donors," Timmy explained, holding up the tiny sample he'd managed to clip before Cissnei had absconded with the prize. "I've separated them by color and mako-content. Looks like they're all from SOLDIERs, and I think I've identified most of them."

"Good work, Tony," Reno said with an approving smile.

"It's Timmy, sir."

"Right. Do you have a list of names for me?"

"No, just Timmy."

"…I meant the SOLDIERs."

"Oh. Right." The intern handed him a printout. "The biggest samples were from Sephiroth, Hewley, Rhapsodos, and Fair. I think Sephiroth came out on top because of his length."

Reno offered the kid an odd sidelong look. "You a fan, Tony?"

Timmy shrugged. "Just saying."

_interior, A SOLDIER'S QUARTERS – stark and clean  
_  
"Come."

Tseng let himself into the room and bowed to the occupant. "General. I apologize for the intrusion, but I need to ask you a few questions."

Sephiroth remained where he was, sprawled across a large leather sofa. "You do realize there are three other silver-haired men in the vicinity of Midgar, don't you?"

"Why do you think this has to do with your hair?"

"That wasn't me at that club," Sephiroth stated flatly, pouring himself another glass of wine. "And even if it was, it's not illegal."

Tseng blinked, nonplussed. "What were you doing at the club?"

"Is that what you came here to ask me? Because if it is, I have a right to representation."

Tseng shook his head. "A woman was found dead in an alley near Loveless Avenue this morning," he said quickly, before he could get derailed again. "She was strangled with a rope made from human hair, and a good portion of that hair was yours, sir. Any idea who might want the president of your fan club dead, or who might have access to your hair?"

Now it was Sephiroth's turn to find the correct page. "…oh. Oh! That!" he blurted, obviously relieved. "I saw it on the news. You have to understand about women, officer, they're fag hags, the lot of them. The more unattainable the man, the bigger his following. They're rabid! I've found them going through the barracks garbage looking for souvenirs. A few weeks ago I was trying to do some shopping top-plate and found myself surrounded. I grabbed a hairbrush off the shelf, ran it through my hair, then threw it at them and ran like hell. Worked like a charm. Does that help?"

"Yes, yes it does. Thank you for your time."

"AAAAAAGHHH!" Genesis woke not only himself with his screams but Angeal as well.

"What is it?" Angeal shouted, leaping out of bed and reaching for a weapon. Finding none within reach, he grabbed a floor lamp and brandished it like a polearm.

Genesis sat upright in their bed, skin gleaming with sweat and chest heaving. "Bad…dream…fan girls…" He looked around frantically. "They took my collection!"

Angeal set the lamp back in its place and returned to the bed. He tugged at a corner of the top sheet. "See? It's okay, you've got your _Loveless_ sheets and comforter, sweetheart. Your books are right where you left them last night: _Loveless_, _A History of Loveless_, _Loveless for Dummies_, _The Men Who Love Loveless and the Women Who Love Them_; they're all here. It was just a nightmare."

Calm once more, Genesis nodded and allowed Angeal to ease him back down to the mattress.

_fade to COMMERCIAL  
_

_fade in to CORRIDOR OUTSIDE SOLDIER QUARTERS  
_  
Tseng looked at his watch, then knocked again.

No answer.

He pressed his ear to the door. Hearing nothing, he tried the knob.

Unlocked.

Tseng drew his gun and carefully eased the door open.

From somewhere across the room, a huge two-headed dog hurtled at him in absolute silence, slobber flying from its jowls.

"Thor's Left Testicle!" Tseng shouted, hauling the door shut just as the dog hit the wall next to it. He leaned heavily against the door; through it, he could feel every impact as the huge beast threw itself at the door in hopes of battering it down.

"Vader! Sidious! Sit!" Though muffled, the voice carried an unmistakable power of command. Footsteps approached the door. "Who is it?"

Tseng debated bolting, thought better of it. "Tseng of the Turks, sir. I have some questions."

The door opened a fraction and Angeal Hewley regarded him with a skeptical eye. "What do you want?"

Just past him, Tseng could see the two-headed monster dog sitting crooked on its haunches, one head staring murder at him while the other licked its balls. "I…" Tseng swallowed, tried again. "A woman was killed last night, strangled with a rope made from hair. Some of your hair was found woven into it. Any idea how she got it?"

Angeal sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "They keep breaking into our apartments," he growled darkly. "Those fangirls. Genesis is having nightmares thanks to them. That's why I bought the dog, to keep them out. Fat lot of good that did, one of 'em hit him with a silence spell last week and he hasn't barked since."

Tseng considered whether he really had any further questions, found none. Thanking the SOLDIER for his time, he turned in search of his next potential witness.

_cut to INTERROGATION ROOM  
_  
"I can't believe she's gone!" wailed the brunette with the large rack. "We'd just finished our interclub treaty!"

"Treaty?" Elena parroted, jotting that down. "What do you mean, a treaty?"

The brunette sniveled piteously. "Keepers of Honor haven't been on the best of terms with Silver Elite ever since that underground calendar came out, and there's always been a kind of friction with Red Leather – we keep arguing about the silliest things, like which one's on top."

_Ask? Don't ask?_ Elena opted for the latter. "Go on…"

"We got together last night, just the presidents, to arrange a party for all the club members. Madonna helped start a new group, and rather than keep the competition going, we thought it'd be nice to welcome them to the fold and all be friends."

"New group?"

"The Zack Fan Club. I know, not very imaginative, is it?"

Elena made another note. "You said there was competition. How bad was it?"

"Well, there've been a few fistfights, but that was when Red Leather got their hands on some of Genesis' underwear…"

"I see. Bad enough to want Madonna Tawanda dead?"

The brunette scowled at her. "Honey, _I_ wanted that underwear! I just know that Angeal peeled it off his lover in a moment of passion…" She clasped her hands to her bosom, near swooning at the thought.

"So, who might have wanted her dead, then, if it wasn't her co-presidents?" Elena asked, mildly annoyed that such women existed to cast other, serious-minded women such as herself in such a bad and tacky light.

"I don't know," the woman replied sadly. "Unless it was the Silver General himself – oh! Maybe it was his three illegitimate love-children, or whatever they are!"

Elena paused, remembering. "Oh, hell. _Those_ guys."

_quick cut to VAST UNDERGROUND CHAMBER, lit by mako  
_  
"Damn, I'm glad I don't have a fan club," Weiss muttered with a shake of his mane.

Nero smirked darkly. "Obviously, _you_ haven't been to DeviantArt…"

_exterior, A SHADY MOTORCYCLE REPAIR SHOP BELOW PLATE  
_  
Reno looked up at the sign hanging askew above the bay door. To the veteran criminologist, Classic Clones had the feel of a chop shop, or worse. He nodded to his partner, then stepped inside.

A large silver-haired man wearing a grimy blue jumpsuit looked up from his work. "Can I help you?"

Reno read the name sewn over his pocket. "I hope so, 'Bob'. Ever see this woman?" He held out a photo, cringed a little when the man picked it up with grease-covered fingers.

Green cat-eyes narrowed as he studied the picture. Then he shook his head. "Nope. Never seen her. Hey, brother?" he called over his shoulder at one of the other mechanics. "You seen this lady?"

Another silver-haired man in a blue jumpsuit came over to have a look. He tilted his head in a rather odd way that made Reno think of a flaming queer chocobo. With a slight shake of his head, just enough to set long silver hair flying, he said, "No."

Reno checked his name tag, raised an eyebrow at coincidence. "Okay, 'Bob,' thank you. How about him?"

"Hey, Ka – Bob," the big guy called, nearly blurting out a non-alias.

His long-haired brother punched him on the arm. "Little brother, would you come here?"

The smallest of the three also sported silver hair, a generic blue jumpsuit, and the name 'Bob'. He smirked up at Reno as though reliving a particularly happy moment, then looked at the photograph. "Mother?"

The long-haired mechanic snatched the picture back and handed it to Reno. "You'd better leave now."

For once in his life, Reno didn't argue.

_fade to CSI LOCKER ROOM  
_  
Cissnei sighed and slumped to the bench. She considered the sheaf of notes in her hand, then dropped them on the floor and hung her head. "What have I done?"

Hearing a sound outside, she quickly gathered the papers together and set them on the bench. When no one came into the room, she rose and carefully opened her locker.

A life-size picture of Zack's face smiled brightly at her from the back of the small metal door. All along the inside of the locker, smaller pictures showed the handsome, prickly-maned SOLDIER in several stages of undress. One particularly well-worn photo showed him in a pair of swim trunks brandishing a beach umbrella like a samurai sword.

Cissnei looked at the pictures, then addressed the life-size one. "Oh, Zack. I never thought this would happen. Now my cover as Black Suit is this close to being blown, all because that uppity bitch from Silver Elite just had to step in and try to run your club herself. Now we may never know who's been stealing your garbage and selling it on eBay!" She kissed her fingers, then pressed the kiss to perfect paper lips. Thus bolstered, she smiled and said, "Don't count me out yet, baby. Turks are on the job!"

_fade to BLACK  
_  
TO BE CONTINUED…

Reeve sits up bolt upright in bed, shivering and drenched in sweat. "Holy hells, what a dream!"

"You all right?" Vincent asks as he rolls over to turn on the light.

"I'm okay," Reeve replies, though his voice is shaky. "Just a weird damn dream. I think I've been watching too many crime dramas on that men's cable channel."

Vincent chuckles and rubs his lover's back. "Trying to prove something, are you?"

Reeve shoots him a look. "Oh, you are so going to get it!"

"I certainly hope so…"

In the Troopers' barracks, one young man is awake after hours. Huddled beneath his covers, he holds a flashlight between his teeth and checks over a photo spread he's hidden within a training notebook.

The well-dressed blonde is crossed off with black magic marker.

A few dozen women are the crux of this fannish mess; without them, the whole club business will fall apart in no time.

Then, there will be no more competition: Zack will be his and his alone.

The flashlight burns out.

In the dark, unheard by any of his sleeping fellows, Kunsel begins to laugh…


End file.
